


Into Oblivion

by Llaeyro



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Assisted Suicide, Bottom Severus Snape, Carer Severus, Community: hp_goldenage, Established Relationship, Harry's second child is Albus Remus Potter, Ill Sirius, M/M, Motor Neurone Disease, Otherwise EC, Sad But Life Affirming, Severus Snape Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Terminal Illnesses, Top Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llaeyro/pseuds/Llaeyro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus knew that a time would come when he would be unable to improve the potion any further. He knew that he would have no choice but to watch Sirius waste away. Years of knowing hasn't made it any easier. Severus is scared but he is about to learn that love shared is love multiplied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: They've been together for a very long time, lived a good long life but in their twilight years, one of them falls terminally ill. Towards the end they're in incredible pain and want nothing more than release from what has become a miserable existence for both of them.
> 
> This has been a labour of love and it has been a pleasure to develop this relationship. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. Thank you to my alpha [_Melodic_](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sae/profile) for working through the story with me, my beta [JosephineStone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephineStone/profile) for ironing out the kinks and the Mods at [hp_goldenage](http://hp-goldenage.livejournal.com/profile) for the brilliant fest that allowed this story to exist! All my love to [akatnamedeaster](http://akatnamedeaster.livejournal.com/profile) for the prompt that inspired this fiction, and her contagious love of these two knuckleheads.
> 
> For American readers, motor neurone disease is the British term for ALS (as in the Ice Bucket Challenge), aka Lou Gehrig's Disease.
> 
> [Read on LJ](http://hp-goldenage.livejournal.com/40642.html).

*~*

**  
**  
**Now – Summer, year 2048**  


Tonight is his last night; his battle is won. The Healers are satisfied, the Wizengamot are decided—it is his choice. No one would like to know what I think. For the most part, I am glad. I do not wish to placate them with lies but nor do I want their pity. I wish that a tomorrow without him would never come.

Tonight, we will fill with our yesterdays. Tomorrow, he will be gone.

*~*

  
**Then – Three months ago.**  


“Merlin’s beard, Sirius, can you not be a little more careful?” The clatter has distracted me, I only hope it won’t prove fatal to the potion. I can sense Sirius’s tense posture from across the room; see the hard stare out the corner of my eye.

“I was just trying to bring you some tea,” Sirius huffs, “and if I _could_ be more careful, you wouldn’t have cause to shut yourself away in here, poring over your cauldrons.”

I sigh, trying to be patient with him. “If you would let me concentrate, I could perfect this and then you _would_ be able to be more careful. You know I’m only shutting myself away to help you.” I tuck my grey hair behind my ear, putting on my reading glasses before pulling out vials to find what I need.

“Sev,” he sounds sad as he hobbles over, the toes of his shoes scraping across the floor as he drags one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on his walking stick. I try not to notice how awkwardly twisted his hand looks as it grips the handle. “It’s time to give up.”

I’m shocked, angry, and the vial falls from my hand. It smashes against the lip of the cauldron, globs of purple fluid dripping heavily into the potion and speckling across the desk. Blue smoke starts to biliously rise from the cauldron. With a wave of my wand, I vanish two weeks’ worth of patient testing. I possibly could have salvaged it, but I will not take any chances. Not with this.

I turn to my husband, my rage increasing as I see the resignation in his eyes. “What are you talking about?” I snap, “We are _not_ giving up. If I can just concentrate—“

“What if there isn’t anything more that a potion can do?” Sirius cuts me off, “What if this is it now and I’m only going to get worse? It’s going to happen eventually and I don’t want to waste the time we have left grasping at the impossible.” He brings his hand up to my cheek. “We need to spend time together.”

I look at Sirius—really _look_ at him. I realise that I have avoided doing so for some time now. I have grown with this man; seen and heard and felt the pain, the joy, the worry, the laughter that has etched all of those lines onto this familiar face. Each and every one seems to belong there, telling our story. I find I can hardly remember his face before them. Even his long grey hair suits him so well that I can’t imagine it any other colour. The short grey beard is another matter, but I learnt long ago not to press these things with Sirius—the stubborn mutt would only grow it longer in protest. 

There are new features, however. The darkness around his eyes. The hollowing of his cheeks. The way his smile cannot quite reach to his eye on his left side anymore. It is all worrying and unwelcome. I have ignored his weight loss because I do not know what to do about it. Despite all the years we have shared together, four decades to be more precise, it is not in either of our natures to admit that Sirius is struggling to feed himself. 

My efforts go into the potion. When I perfect it once more, all of our problems will disappear; postponed for a few more years. Part of me knows that Sirius is right, however. We have never expected to be able to stave off his condition forever. One day, we shall have to face it in all of its degrading, humiliating glory.

I am not ready for that.

I reach out for the hand clutching his walking stick, covering it gently with my own as I meet his gaze, fixing him with unwavering determination.

“We are not giving up.”

*~*

**  
**  
**Now.**  


I cannot bring myself to go up to him yet, so I sit in the study before the fireplace. I hold up my glass, distracting myself with watching tongues of flame twist and flicker, magnified by the glass, seeming to lick at the amber liquid. I know I should be with him, but I am afraid. The more time I spend with him, the more that withering body and slack, emotionless face is fixed in my mind, replacing the man that I know. I cannot be the patient carer that he needs. Maybe that is the real reason that he battled the Wizengamot for his right to die. True-hearted Gryffindor logic; if I cannot provide for him, no one can.

I wish I were strong enough. Selfless enough.

*~*

**  
**  
**Then.**  


“What’s this?” Sirius slurs with a scowl, feigning an itchy cheek to wipe the drool from the corner of his mouth with his crooked wrist.

“Bread and soup.” I sit down in front of my own bowl. Sirius’s scowl deepens.

“Where’s dinner?”

“This is dinner.”

He speaks again and I glance up, trying to make sense of his garbled sentence. Even in context, I cannot work out what he has said and I lower my gaze. 

“Why?” he persists, evidently simplifying his previous sentiments.

“Because I do not believe it is your wish to choke to death,” I bite back, dunking a large chunk of bread into the thick brown liquid and stuffing it inelegantly into my mouth. I hope that, with the reminder of yesterday’s near-miss, this will be the end of the matter.

He is quiet for a moment before he reaches for his spoon. He pushes it across the table to give himself more room, using both hands to try and pick it up. His wand lies next to it, but he doesn’t use it. We have not spoken about how unreliable his magic has become and I doubt we will. 

Under the table I flick my wand, moving his bowl away ever so slightly and cleaning Sirius’s sleeve; he hadn’t even noticed it dragging through his soup, he is too busy concentrating on the spoon. He has it now, balanced across his right palm, his hooked thumb holding it mostly still. He submerges the spoon in the soup, but when he tries to lift it out again, the angle is inadequate and the soup trickles off entirely. He uses both hands again to try and reposition the spoon, but it slips, landing in the bowl and splashing soup over the table and down Sirius’s front. He shouts incoherently, swiping angrily at the bowl and I instinctively jump to my feet, raising a shield just in time.

He slumps at the table, head in his hands as best as his twisted digits will allow. I will not make him suffer the indignity of being fed by my hand. I leave him, take my bowl and go to the kitchen. There is still soup in the pan. I take two mugs from the cupboard and transfigure an extra handle, enlarging both loops on both mugs. I pour my remaining soup into one mug and ladle fresh soup into the other. I return to the dining room. Sirius hasn’t moved, but his shoulders are shaking. He startles, looking up as I place the mug next to him and sit down with my own, bringing it to my lips with both hands. His watery eyes meet mine. He does not smile, he knows I do not want his gratitude.

I know it is there, nonetheless.

*~*

__  
**Now.**  


It is nearly time for his next pain potion. I take a new bottle of Ogden’s from the cabinet and shrink it, concealing it in my pocket. I expect I will need it before morning—my own numbing elixir.

I climb the stairs and enter our room to find him asleep. For a brief moment, I resent that he can feel relaxed enough, tonight of all nights, to fall into a deep sleep. I know it is a deep sleep; his limbs almost lay at comfortable angles, devoid of the constant tension which has plagued them these past few months.

I am loath to wake him. Not for his own comfort but for mine. For the moment, this body is almost the one I have loved. The one I have grown with. This body has fought with me and against me. It has brought me immense pleasure and been pleasured in return. It is not the gnarled, stiff and unresponsive body of Sirius’s waking hours. His prison, slowly sapping his free will, removing his independence. I find no pleasure in that body. It only fights against me. 

How can it be that total dependence has pushed us so far apart?

*~*

__  
**Then.**  


I adjust my grip on him, watching my footing as he sways.

“For the love of Merlin, Sirius, _hold the banister_.” He indignantly replies, but all I understand is ‘can’t’. My arm is wrapped around his waist as tightly as it can be while still giving him the necessary room to swing his leg round and up to the next step.

“Needa piss,” he grunts out.

“Then you need to start—co-operating,” I huff as I all but drag him up the next step. “This is ridiculous, hold the banister, I’m getting my wand out.”

He babbles gibberish at me, but his protestation is clear. After briefly closing his eyes in frustration, he speaks purposely slowly, but my mind still has to work overtime to make sense of the sounds.

“I can do‘t. Don need help.”

“Oh, well, that is good to know. I’ll just leave you to it then, shall I? _Hold_ the bannister, I’m getting my wand.” He hooks his elbow over the banister and I help him reach across himself with the arm I have been holding. I can’t manage to draw my wand with my left hand, so I take my right arm from his waist.

He falls.

By the time I cast towards him, he’s practically at the bottom. I gently lower him to the floor as I rush down to him, the cacophony of grunts, bangs and cracks as he fell still resounding in my ears. A quick diagnostic spell miraculously shows only a sprained ankle, many bruises, carpet burn and a small gash on his eyebrow. I get to work healing his ankle, but when I turn my attention to his eyebrow, he bats me away.

“Be still.”

“Fuck off,” he tries to wave me off again.

“Do you not want me to heal you?” My voice is tight. He will not look at me.

“You dropped me.”

“Rest assured it won’t happen again, you’re being levitated from now on.”

“NO!” he growls viciously.

“FINE, you reckless, arrogant imbecile! Stay there, see if I care!” I storm off into the study, slamming the door behind me. I can hear him shouting at me for a while. By the time I am halfway through the bottle, he has quietened. Despite my anger, I know that I cannot leave him for long.

The stench of urine hits me as soon as I step into the hallway. It disgusts me, but I also find a perverse victory in it. I cast a cleaning charm but it still seems to linger in my nostrils. I approach him with my wand out, almost daring him to protest again. He lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. 

I levitate him up the stairs and dress him for bed in silence.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now.**  


Yet another day of manhandling Sirius and standing over cauldrons has left me stiff and weary. He thinks I have been brewing stock for the shop, or he has been pretending to believe me, at least. The limited time the lie allows me is not adequate for adapting the potion that has already given Sirius so much more life than this disease wished to allow him. I lower myself gently onto the edge of the bed, so as not to disturb him, and kick off my boots. The extent of the aches, seeping through my muscles to the bone, becomes apparent.

“Suhruh.”

It is barely more than a grunt, but I recognise it as my name. I turn, greeting him with a small, forced smile as I move to my knees. I lean over him to reach for the Thoughtpad. Taking the innocuous piece of card from his side table, I place it on his stomach. I move the cushion for him as he awkwardly wriggles and shuffles into a more seated position. When he is comfortable—or as close to it as he can ever be these days—he swings his forearm to flop onto his stomach, gripping the device lightly between his thumb and middle finger. I sit beside him, back to the headboard. His eyes close briefly and when they open, words appear upon the page.

 _‘You look like shit._ ’ The page glows until I respond.

I send him a brief, withering glare. “As said the cauldron to the kettle.” The text clears and is shortly replaced.

_‘Yeah well, I have motor-neurone disease. What’s your excuse?’_

I know that behind the attempt at humour, he is concerned about me. “I’m just a bit tense. I’m fine,” I mutter. I doubt it’s terribly convincing.

 _‘Tense. I’m unfamiliar with that. Maybe you could tell me about it and while you’re at it, could you teach me how to suck eggs?’_ His mouth twitches in a pathetic attempt at a smirk. All it does is cause him to drool more. I reach for the tissues on my nightstand, but he grunts and I turn my attention back to the Thoughtpad, where fresh words are appearing. _‘Use your wand.’_ A brief pause. _‘Please.’_ I have no reason to argue, so I do as he requests. He has so little dignity left, I will afford him all that I can. I catch a fleeting wince cross his features.

“Cramp?”

_‘No, just the usual.’_

“Massage?”

_‘When have I ever said no to you on your knees for me?’_

I smile, the smallest huff of a chuckle passing my lips. It breaks my heart as it brings to the fore the inescapable truth. It is still Sirius, trapped inside there. Caring for this useless, weak and twisted body is easier when I let myself forget it, but he won’t let me. I bring my hand to his cheek, closing my eyes as I press our foreheads together. I can feel his soft hair curling around my fingertips, his breath against my face. I can smell his shampoo, that slightly sweaty sleep smell and it’s all just so Sirius. In this brief moment, nothing is different. He is here, and real, and Sirius, and mine.

“I miss you.” The words are spoken so softly that I am not sure if I voiced them at all. I hope that I did not, but I can see out of the corner of my eye, through the curtain of our hair, the Thoughtpad is glowing. “I know,” I mutter quietly, but with conviction. “I know.”

I kiss his forehead and hold him close as the unseen words vanish. I did not need to read them—I saw them in his eyes.

Eyes that screamed at me.

_‘I’m still here. Don’t give up on me.’_

*~*

**  
**  
**Then.**  


When I answer the door, Hermione has a nervous excitement about her. She is dressed smartly, her grey bun now frizzy and loose after a day at the office. She greets me with the usual curt peck on the cheek and I lead her into the study, where Sirius and I had been reading beside the fire. Sirius gives her a crooked smile, raising his arms briefly to greet her. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and gives him a kiss on each cheek before waving the armchair closer to the sofa. Taking a seat, Hermione rests her hand on his knee. She looks over to me and I presume she is waiting for me to join them. I resume my place beside Sirius, the space between us now making me resent Hermione’s presence. I know it is a juvenile thought; she never stays long. Then I can continue to read to my husband, as his head rests against my chest. We have so few comforts left to cling to.

“You finally got rid of the beard,” she says breezily.

“It’s a sore subject,” I reply tightly. She doesn’t need to know that Sirius nearly lost part of his nose and myself an eye in the process.

“Right, well… I’m sorry to drop round at short notice, but I just had to tell you tonight,” she gushed, with barely contained excitement. “You’re honorary great-grandparents, again!”

Sirius makes a high sound, joy evident on his face. I cannot help but grin. He looks quickly between us and I know he wants to convey his happiness and ask approximately one hundred questions. Unfortunately, he must make do with my best efforts.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” I ask.

“Girl,” Hermione beams, “Dora Lupin, five pounds eight. Mum’s doing well, if exhausted and John is over the moon.”

Sirius nudges me with his elbow before bringing his hands close together in his lap, nodding towards Hermione.

“She’s small,” I interpret. I’m aware Sirius would probably have put it more eloquently, or endearingly, but I do find these situations stretch my social skills to their limits.

Hermione nods. “She is, I managed to pop by after work. She’s absolutely adorable and she’s inherited her grandfather’s abilities! Can you believe Teddy is a granddad? It really is terrifying.”

“Have you heard from James lately? How’s their new girl, um, Celeste getting on?”

“She’s settled in really quickly. I think that, because she’s been in care for so long, she’s really grateful to be a part of a family now.”

“How old is she?”

“Nearly six. I think it’s been good for Dan too, having another non-magical wizard-born in the house. He seems to be coming out of his shell a bit more.”

“I suspect that Daniel felt unworthy of adoption, and, therefore, presumed that Scorpius and James only took him to avoid splitting the brothers apart.”

Hermione nods. “Yes, I’ve had that impression myself.” Sirius grunts his disapproval and attempts to scowl at me.

“I merely suspect that is how the boy feels; not that the feeling is justified.”

“Sirius,” Hermione breaks cheerfully through the tension, “I’ve made some adjustments and I think this will be much more suitable.” She pulls what appears to be a thin piece of white card from her suitcase and rests it on Sirius’s knee. He jerks his hand away from it.

“It’s okay, I altered it. It won’t activate until you touch it _and_ wordlessly cast the spell.” I can sense Sirius’s relief. “The incantation is _Dictare_ and _Finite_ will stop it.”

“Does the text stay on the page indefinitely or is there a way to clear it?”

“It will clear automatically the next time you cast.”

Sirius reaches out and touches the page. Nothing happens. Hermione worries her bottom lip with her teeth. Sirius closes his eyes, and when they open again, words appear. I swallow hard to rid the lump from my throat.

It is written in his handwriting.

 _‘How will people around me know I’ve said something? Merlin, my pants are really riding up. Bugger. Oh tits, stop writing! Sorry...’_ Sirius lets out a choked sound. Once a bark-like laugh, now nothing more than the pathetic mewl of a sick pup.

“Well, I suppose it will still take some getting used to,” Hermione chuckles as she takes the sheet and waves her wand over it, cheeks pinkening. I can only guess she is remembering her last attempt at a communication device. She obviously had not been expecting the barely coherent inner ramblings of a horny old man. At least now the messages seem to be more within Sirius’s control. 

“Try it now,” she says, returning it to Sirius’s lap.

Sirius touches the page and closes his eyes again. The page glows as words appear on it.

_‘Extra, extra. Read all about it. My youngest is a grandad!’_

“Yes, he is,” Hermione smiles and the page ceases to glow, the words disappearing with it. “It will glow until you get a response. It was quite an interesting project. The real challenge was programming the punctuation and grammar to respond to emotional intention—” She breaks off as she catches my eye. “Well, yes… Now I just need to think of a name for it.”

_‘It’s a Thoughtpad.’_

Hermione tilts her head, thinking on that for a moment. “Yes, I like that. Thoughtpad it is.”

_‘Have you seen Harry lately?’_

Hermione gives a sympathetic smile, “Not much… No one’s seeing as much of him as they used to. I don’t think he was fully prepared for the sheer quantity of duties he has now. He’s got Kingsley to advise him, of course, so that’s a big help.”

They continue to prattle on, but I find it hard to stay focussed on the conversation. It is always the case with Harry. After the war, he made it his personal mission to get to know me. It seemed that discovering my true loyalties had somehow convinced him that I couldn’t possibly be the bitter, sarcastic, cynical and solitary individual he had previously believed me to be. Needless to say, he was rather disappointed when he discovered that I was still exactly that. His hatred of me burned with renewed vigour after that. In spite of what Sirius claims, I do not feel he has ever come to accept our relationship. He merely tolerates it, biting his tongue for Sirius’s sake.

Hermione stays for a little longer before heading home. When she is gone and I have appropriately rearranged his underpants, I pull Sirius to me and find our page in the book. Before I can resume reading, the Thoughtpad glows in his lap.

 _‘I can talk to you now,’_ the writing says, as he looks up at me.

“You can interrupt me, more like,” I quip.

_‘That too. I do want to talk to you, though.’_

I sit up and shift back, pulling Sirius with me, so that we can better see each other. I sweep his hair behind his ear. “About what?”

Sirius takes a long, slow breath. _‘I don’t want to live like this, Severus. Not for much longer.’_

“Then let me spend more time on the potion. I can buy us more time.”

_‘It’s too late and you know it. Too much damage has been done. I don’t want more time if it’s going to be spent like this. In pain.’_

I drop the book down upon the table, wrapping my trembling hands around him. The room suddenly feels dark and cramped, my throat tight and dry. There isn’t enough air. New text appears below the previous message, as it continues to glow.

_‘I want to ask you something, Severus. I need you to do one last thing for me, when I’m ready.’_

My fear slides easily into rage, my fingers gripping Sirius’s arms unforgivingly. “No! Don’t you dare ask that of me! You know me, Sirius. You know what that did to me.” My voice starts to break as memories of Albus and my treatment after the war flood back to me. “You will have me back on trial for murder?”

_‘I could appeal to the Wizengamot. Ask them to make a compassionate exception.’_

“Illegal or not, I cannot do it.” I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. It pains me to be so open, but he must understand. “It will be hard enough to lose you, Sirius, without being the one responsible for it.”

I feel his hand clawing lightly at the back of mine and move it from my face. He leans further into me, burying his face in my chest. The Thoughtpad is glowing.

_‘I’m sorry.’_

“So am I,” I sigh.

_‘I still want to appeal to the Wizengamot. I want to go on my own terms, whether you agree or not.’_

“I will help you fight for your right, but do not expect me to aid you with the deed.”

_‘As long as you are with me.’_

I hold him close. I can only hope the Wizengamot refuse.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now.**  


 _‘So, about this massage,’_ says the Thoughtpad, after I have helped him to take his potion.

I quirk my eyebrow at him. He cannot be serious. “A massage to help the ache in your joints.”

He gives me the look I dread. The one that assures me he is up to no good. There was a time that look would have excited me, particularly whilst lying in bed beside him. It seems now as if that were another life entirely.

_‘I’d prefer a different kind of massage.’_

“You are in no state for that sort of nonsense.” I carefully school my expression. I do not expect him to give in easily. It has not been in our nature to go more than a few days without some form of love making but I simply cannot bring myself to pleasure him.

_‘I have no problem in that department, and you know it.’_

“And what about your breathing, hm? Do you think your shortness of breath the past two days has escaped my attention? And before you say it, I do not require a reminder of what tomorrow means.” There is the slightest of edges to my voice. He will notice it. “I will not spend tonight in St Mungo’s. You wanted to reminisce, so let’s reminisce.” He just stares at me for a moment. I am waiting for him to formulate his argument.

_‘Alright, come in.’_

Relieved, I look into his eyes and wordlessly cast _Legilimens_. I instantly feel him pulling me towards a memory.

*~*

**  
**  
**Before.**  


I’m plunged into Diagon Alley, beside a younger Sirius. His hair is black, starting to fade at the temples. I would guess he is late forties or early fifties, which puts us shortly before or after our dalliance began. That may explain why he is pacing back and forth outside my shop.

As he makes for the door yet again and swerves at the last moment, I feel the urge to shout at him. He has a slight shuffle to his walk, and his hand trembles slightly as he reaches out for the handle. It is slight enough that I did not notice immediately, and I think I know which memory he has brought me to. When he finally enters, I feel myself inexorably pulled close behind him into the dim and dank potion store, as the street outside fades to nothingness. The usually familiar smoky-sweet tang, resulting from years of potions and potion vapours seeping into the wooden furnishings of the room, smells sharp and almost overpowering. When this memory was formed, Sirius was not yet used to the smell. I am curious as to what else will be different about this encounter when seen from his perspective. The air is thick with Sirius’s nerves.

My other self sweeps in from the back room, taking my spot behind the counter as the chiming bell above the door gradually quietens. I can’t help but smile at the sight I make as I swirl my robes just so—it seems natural, effortless and foreboding. I remember suppressing a smirk as I spotted Sirius’s hesitation, but I cannot detect it now. Clearly, it was well suppressed. My younger face is an expressionless mask as I draw myself up to my full height, shoulders pulled back. I feel the urge to roll my eyes at myself. Since our latter years at Hogwarts, Sirius has been taller than me—more than simply correcting my posture can account for.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

Sirius looks taken aback. “You don’t recognise me?”

I remember the inward thrill of having my school nemesis on edge, hidden behind the sarcastic eyebrow. “Of course I recognise you!” I snap, followed by a rather dramatic sigh, “I assume you are here as a customer, so I am offering my assistance. If however I am mistaken, and you are here to reminisce our school days, I will have to ask you to fuck off.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Sirius’s mouth, and I can feel his temptation to rise to the bait. I know he will not.

“I am here as a customer. I need help,” he says as he approaches the counter.

“I’m listening…”

“I have a condition. Motor Neurone Disease.” He waits a moment, but I continue to stare at him impassively. “In short, it’s degeneration of motor neurones and wasting of muscle. I was diagnosed shortly after the war. They originally predicted I would live approximately a year. Fortunately, they were working on a potion, so they soon upped that to ten years.”

“And now that ten years is approaching, the potion has become less effective,” I deduce and Sirius nods. I remember distinctly not wanting to help. I wanted to brush it off as not my problem. However, Sirius was a much loved celebrity, as well as a decorated war hero. Despite my pardon, despite my own Order of Merlin, there was still a nature of distrust among the general population. He could quite easily damage my business. I felt sure he knew it. “And you want me to undertake the arduous process of attempting to enhance this potion. Are you aware that such a thing may not be possible?”

“Of course. We have magic, not miracles. Possible or not, I will pay well for your time.”

My eyes narrow as I lean forward, inspecting Sirius shrewdly. He does not flinch. I do believe I considered entering his mind at that moment, but the argument that would ensue didn’t seem worth the payoff.

“Why me?”

Sirius’s eyes widen for a moment before he settles into a confused frown. “You’re the best there is, Snape. If anyone can do it, it will be you.”

“You think flattery will get you anything and everything, don’t you, Black?” I snarl.

In his memory, I can sense what he is hiding. There’s a flare of anger, a flash of fear, then determination. No doubt he has reminded himself what is at stake. He holds his hands up placatingly. “It’s my life we’re talking about here. The fact is, you’re my best chance. I’m not going to throw that away over things that happened over thirty years ago.”

I have straightened up while he spoke, arms folded across my chest. “You’ve changed.” I can feel Sirius’s confusion swirling around me, as if he’s trying to decipher whether that is an accusation, praise or simply an observation.

“Not particularly,” he grimaces. “I still have the urge to hex you, call you creative names and question your personal hygiene, I just have reason not to; I have another grandchild on the way and I have every intention of seeing her grow up. You seem to be doing your best to treat me like a customer. The least I can do, is do my best to act like one.”

“Very well,” I nod, “Although, this is likely to be quite the time-consuming project. We will be required to spend time together as I give you sample potions and observe the results. You will be my client, rather than my customer and therefore required to sign a contract.”

Another pulse of emotion: it tastes like distrust. “Magically binding?”

“No. It is merely to absolve myself of any legal repercussions should you provide me with incomplete or false information. If misinformation leads to you imbibing a potion which has an adverse effect, I will not be held responsible.”

The distrust is still very heavy in the air. Sirius gives a hesitant nod.

“Do you have any known allergies?”

My attention starts to drift inward. I do not know why Sirius was so keen to share this memory. Quite frankly, I’m bored. It doesn’t bother me that he is likely able to sense that. If anything, it will hopefully encourage him to get to the bloody point, if there is one. They are walking into the back room now, Sirius and myself, so I follow. I will test him for allergens, he will hand over the sample potion, as well as the ingredients list and instructions he had procured from St Mungo’s. The appointment will pass without anyone losing their temper—a miraculous feat which went unrepeated for some time afterwards—and he will leave.

Disinterested, I wander off around the lab while my younger self continues to fire off questions, scanning jars of ingredients.

That’s… odd. Incredibly odd. All of a sudden, I feel rather aroused. Not physically aroused; at my age, such things no longer happen without direct contact. It is internal. That pleasant spark in the groin, building up to the somersaults in one’s chest. 

Lust.

I quickly realise that these feelings must not be mine, therefore they are Sirius’s. I whip around and he is staring, wide-eyed and lips parted.

I step forward, moving around the workbench so that I may follow his gaze.

Oh.

_Oh._

He is looking at me. Or, more precisely, my arse as I kneel on the floor, leaning into the cupboard to reach something. The rest of the room is becoming hazy as all of Sirius’s attention is focussed on my backside.

It is clear now why Sirius considers this memory important enough for us to share tonight. It is the moment that he first realised his attraction to me. I have no doubt that it was a primary reason for the disaster that was our second appointment—I can already sense Sirius’s shame eating away at the edges of his raw want.

I can feel Sirius starting to push me away. Evidently, we are done with this memory.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now.**  


The lurch as I pull myself from Sirius’s mind has left us catching our breath. I blink uncomfortably, eyes adjusting back to the moderately lit room after so long in the illusion of my dingy laboratory.

“ _Aguamenti_.” I levitate the glass to Sirius, watching it from the corner of my eye as I sip from my own straw. I survey him carefully. Penetration of the mind is taxing, and his body is not strong; we must be careful.

He lets the straw fall from his lips.

“You look flushed, have some more water.”

 _‘I’ve had enough, thank you, Mother.’_ I read from the Thoughtpad as he rolls his eyes.

I frown slightly before it occurs to me. “Sirius, why are you blushing?”

_‘Now you know how long I fancied you before I finally summoned the balls to do anything about it.’_

It seems rather ridiculous that he should feel embarrassed about that, particularly so long after the fact. Regardless, I want to ease his discomfort. “I can assure you, I waited much longer."

_‘How much longer?’_

I feel heat rising to my own cheeks as I answer quietly: “Since we stepped off of the Express to start seventh year. Not that I truly wanted to do anything about it at the time, of course. I was rather horrified, actually. I often feel that neither of us would have found the balls, as you put it. I am thankful for the circumstance which finally brought us together. Circumstance and your foolishness.”

_‘About that… There’s something you should know. Best come in again.’_

Truthfully, I am concerned. I do not know what awaits me as I gaze once more into Sirius’s eyes and let him guide me.

*~*

**  
**  
**Before.**  


Arguments and testing phases and hours of counting stirs in my lab flash past in a blur. The snippets of memories flying past begin to slow, the moments drawing out for longer, until everything stops moving and a memory wraps around me. I am surprised that we are not in my shop.

We are in Sirius’s family home. I say we, but rightly I should say he, for Sirius is coming down the stairs alone. He looks sleepy and smells clean; I presume he has come from his morning shower. He leans heavily on the bannister, then against the wall as he makes his way carefully through the house, dragging his feet along slowly. Evidently, I haven’t yet perfected the potion. I follow him down into the kitchen, where breakfast is waiting for him. He eats while he reads the paper.

Once more, I wonder why on Earth he has chosen this memory. At least, why so early in the day? What can possibly be the significance of showing me that Sirius had porridge for breakfast?

I find myself pacing impatiently waiting for Sirius to finish his damn breakfast so that we can get to the bloody point. I am nervous about what is to come. If this memory is the day that brought us together, it is also our first sexual encounter. Quite frankly, it is one I’d rather not revisit.

Eventually, he summons his walking stick, puts on his cloak and Disapparates.

It is an odd sensation. I expect the usual squeeze and twist, but I remain stationary. As Sirius leaves my view, so does his memory of his home—seemingly spiralling, like water down a drain, into a singular point before disappearing altogether. It is in a similar fashion that Diagon Alley appears around us. I am glad for a moment’s pause to gather myself. The strange experience of a visual Apparition without the physical sensation is unfamiliar and leaves me feeling lightheaded.

Sirius has been standing in place, staring at the door to my shop. He is nervous again. I cannot fathom why that might have been. With a deep breath, he enters.

When my younger self appears in the doorway, my fears are recognised. It is indeed the memory I was anxious to avoid.

I have left my robes hanging in the back room, since I had no need to brew that day. Summer has started in earnest and the lab does get stuffy. I am wearing neat trousers, my white shirt tucked into them carefully, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to the elbows. At the bell, my hand has gone instinctively to my left sleeve, keeping my forearm from view and preparing to roll the material down if necessary. When I catch sight of Sirius I relax, leaving my sleeve as it is, with the Mark scar on display.

Sirius smiles curtly and I nod for him to join me in the back room.

He perches upon a stool and takes the offered potion. I feel his emotions buzzing—nervous excitement, but his face is schooled into a frown.

“Is that, do I detect rosehips?”

“Yes. I hope it will provide the anti-inflammatory properties of chamomile, but without reacting with the Wormwood. I lean in, almost nose to nose with him, shining the light from my wand into his eyes as I scrutinise him. “No hallucinations this time?”

“Nothing yet, no… but,” he takes a breath, and the nervous excitement quivers around us once more. “I took a Pepperup this morning, after breakfast. To take the edge off my knee and I just felt really achy this morning…”

I have straightened up slowly as he spoke. My jaw is clenched, my wand shakes slightly in my fist as I glare at him.

“You…” I force out, “You knew. You knew we would be trialing a potion today. You _knew_ you were not to take anything for twenty-four hours, yet you took something regardless! With a base of Mandrake root, no less! Do you not realise how serious this could have been? If I hadn’t also substituted the salamander blood, you’d currently be sprawled across the floor, foaming at the mouth! _You could have died_!”

Sirius is perched quietly on his stool, his eyes watching me as a pace, flail and rant. I cannot comprehend how he managed to sit there so calmly when every flat surface in the memory seems to pulse with his rush of adrenaline. While other-me continues the diatribe, a slight flutter of his eyelashes catches my attention.

Merlin help me, _he’s touching himself_. It is subtle, a hand hidden beneath his cloak, but I am sure of it now.

Everything clicks into place.

Sirius _didn’t_ take a potion at breakfast. That is what he had intended to show me.

I grab my own attention when I stop pacing and take deep breaths, covering my eyes with my hands. I let my hands fall slowly away, fixing Sirius with a glare.

“You realise the consequences of combining rosehip and Mandrake root?”

“If I didn’t before, it’s pretty bloody clear right now,” Sirius grimaced, letting his cloak fall open to reveal his very obviously tented trousers.

I cannot help the swell of anger. The bastard tricked me into sleeping with him! I feel manipulated. I feel foolish. Sirius sweeps toward my ignorant self, feigning potion-induced desperation as he breathily persuades me to ‘help’ him. I cannot stand it.

I wrench myself from the memory.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now**  


I turn my head away from Sirius, anger still pulsing through me. I can see the Thoughtpad flashing at the edge of my vision, but I ignore it. I reach into my robes for the whiskey bottle, swiftly unshrinking it, pouring a generous measure and swallowing it in one. Eyes closed, I give myself a moment, concentrating on steadying my breathing. No good can come from getting my knickers in a twist, as my father used to say. Not tonight.

I pour again, in both glasses this time, laying the bottle on the nightstand before turning to the Thoughtpad.

_‘Spoil sport.’_

I can’t bring myself to laugh, but it does take the edge off my indignation.

“I have just discovered that our relationship began with a lie and you have the audacity to sulk.”

_‘But it was getting to the good bit.’_

“It was formal. It was functional and, on my part at least, reluctant. Quite frankly, not our finest hour.” I levitate his glass to him as I sip from my own.

_‘That wasn’t the beginning of our relationship anyway. Just the ice breaker.’_

“I will concede to that. It was a very long time ago after all.” I feel calm. There really is no use in dwelling on it. “In credit to your deception, we have lived a wonderful life filled with joyful memories. Let us spend this time dwelling on _them_ , rather than discovering new reasons to snipe at each other.” I lay our glasses aside. There is a sparkle in Sirius’s eyes.

_‘I know just the place. Follow me, love.’_

I do.

*~*

**  
**  
**Before.**  


Merlin’s beard, what is it with my husband and first times? I do not understand his logic. Of all the weekends that we looked after our grandchildren, of all the times we took them to the park, he has to pick this disastrous play-date? It is the first occasion on which I have met the children, and my discomfort could not be more apparent.

The wizarding play-park, funded by Harry, was so new at the time that we were the only family in it. He wanted his children to have the opportunities he was denied whilst growing up. When he discovered that there was no such thing as a wizarding park, he built one. To Muggles, it is an abandoned plot of land.

Sirius is sat on the bench, passing finger food to Lily as she sits happily in her pushchair. Teddy, James and Albus are perched beside Sirius, stuffing their faces with crisps and the like while I stand off awkwardly to the side. Teddy gets up, wiping his greasy hands carelessly on his trousers.

“Uncle Sirius, I’m going on the monkey bars.”

“Me too!” James shouts out, sliding off the bench and shoving his last handful of crisps into his mouth in one go.

“Hang on!” Sirius calls out, ineffectually. “James, don’t climb ‘til I get over there! Severus, are you alright to help Lily with her snack?”

I visibly balk at the suggestion. “I do not think that would be wise.”

“I can’t trust James on his own and I can’t be in two places at once.”

“But—” I edge closer, trying to keep my voice low so that the children do not hear me. “I cannot understand a word she says.”

Sirius grins up at me. “It does take some getting used to. Go keep an eye on the boys then? Don’t let James out your sight. I’ve told him time and time again to make sure an adult is watching before he does anything reckless but y’know… He’s six.”

I sigh as I start to make my way over to the climbing frame. “Excellent. Just what I need in my life, another Gryffindor.” Sirius smiles fondly as he watches me march away. I do not follow myself straight away, instead I linger to watch Sirius with Lily and Albus.

Seeing Lily in her pushchair, babbling away bossily to Sirius, I find myself noticing similarities. She is so much like her daughter at that age. Or rather, Amberley was just like Lily. I haven’t noticed the similarity quite so acutely before. Amberley is seven now so her personality is really beginning to show through; she is destined to be a Slytherin, I am sure of it. In that respect, and with her fairer hair, she is often thought to be more like her father. She has her mother’s tenderness, but she is more careful about how and when she deploys it. Sirius is chatting animatedly, expertly interpreting Lily’s burblings and relaying them back to her, being sure to include Albus in the discussion.

I glance in the direction my other self has moved in and see Teddy approaching me from the climbing frame. I hurry over.

“Hey, can you lift the ward? I want to go up there,” James shouts down, pointing at a precarious frame which hangs out of the structure, at least a dozen feet from the ground.

“I do not think that would be appropriate. You are too young.”

“Granddad lets me…” James pouts.

“I am not Granddad.”

“Too right,” scoffs Teddy, “Uncle Sirius is loads of fun. Jamie can do it, I’ve seen him do it before.”

“Very well, but be careful.” The wards lift and James continues to climb with a grin. I am watching him like a hawk for a while, wand raised just in case, until Teddy starts to speak to me.

“Uncle Harry thinks you’re a wanker.” He is examining me closely.

“I do not find that surprising,” I reply tightly.

“Auntie Ginny says he’s just bitter about the past and can’t let go of old prejudices. She thinks if Uncle Sirius likes you, you can’t really be the greasy bastard everyone thinks you are.”

At the time, I remember wondering when first years became so foul-mouthed. Now, knowing Teddy, I see the act he was putting on for me. I see the way he steps back slowly, baiting me, trying to draw my attention away from James. My past self is drawn in, wand lowering, James barely in my peripheral vision.

“And what do you think?”

He inches back again. “I think you were horrible to Dad, even though he never joined the others in picking on you.”

“I see Potter has been telling you stories, but did he tell you how I spent days at a time making the Wolfsbane potion for your father every month? In my spare time, for no additional pay, I might add.” I am staring down at the boy, eyebrows raised, hiding my smirk at his obvious surprise. I feel a flash of fear which is not mine.

“JAMES!!” Sirius yells, running up behind myself and Teddy, one hand pushing the buggy while he raises his wand, Albus rushing behind him.

We all look up to James, dangling by one hand from the overhanging frame. In an instant he is being slowly lowered to the ground, protesting all the way.

“Aw, no fair Granddad! I had it! I could of got my hand back on there and got to the top!”

Sirius roughly grabbed him by the back of his cloak as soon as his feet hit the ground. “What have I told you about taking risks when an adult isn’t watching?” Sirius gives me a single look. It is a combination of ‘I told you so’ and ‘we’ll talk about this later’ that causes me to blush. 

“I just wanted to get to the top…”

“You need to do as you’re told, James! It’s dangerous! Do I have to stick your bottom to the roof of the tower again?”

“No…” James grumbled, bothering a stone with the toe of his shoe as he stares at the floor.

“Right then, no more than two foot from the ground for the rest of the afternoon.” James opens his mouth in dismay, but Sirius doesn’t let him get a word out. “Or it’s the sticking charm,” he says, waving his wand threateningly. He flicks his wand, presumably renewing the height wards. Probably lowering them.

James huffs and heads off. Teddy goes to follow him, but Sirius’s hand on his shoulder stops him. He steers Teddy away slightly, out of earshot, but I can hear this time.

“Severus wouldn’t take a risk like that based on the word of a six-year-old. I know you’ve had a hand in this, Teddy.” Teddy’s hair turns a darker shade of blue as he averts his eyes. Sirius leans down to try and catch his gaze. “I know you’ve heard some things from Uncle Harry…” he sighs, “but Uncle Harry wasn’t there at school with me and your dad. I was, and I’ve forgiven him. True, he wasn’t fair to Harry when he was his professor, but—look, he wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but Severus saved Uncle Harry’s life, okay? More than once.”

Teddy was staring up at Sirius now, confused. “But—but why would Uncle Harry stay so mad at him if he saved his life?”

Sirius gives a wry smile. “It is not easy to accept help from the people you dislike. Especially when you’ve disliked them for so long. Uncle Harry is a very stubborn man.”

“You can talk, Uncle Sirius,” Teddy smirks cheekily. Sirius laughs.

“Just, try and make up your own mind about Severus, okay? For me?”

As they hug, I glance over to myself. Oh, Merlin, I look positively idiotic. Lily is sleeping in her pushchair, which I have parked to the edge of the swing enclosure. Albus is sitting on a swing, tiny shoes dangling a couple of feet above the ground as he moves back and forth slightly. I am giving him the occasional gentle push with a flick of my wand while I rock awkwardly on my heels, trying to demonstrate the appropriate movement. My hips are moving in a most undignified manner. His face is screwed up in concentration as he attempts to copy. If anything, the movement of the swing lessens.

We don’t give up. We will practice for weeks, I remember. When he finally gets it, he will jump off mid-swing, straight into my arms, and hug me.

It will be the first of many.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now**  


_‘Gorgeous little shits, weren’t they? I hadn’t realised Amberley was so like Lily at that age. She’s so different now, it’s hard to believe.’_

“I had the same thought.” I levitate a glass of water to Sirius, but he turns his head away. With a sigh, I vanish the water and refill the glass with Ogden’s. This time, he takes the straw between his lips without hesitation.

_’Weird seeing Al too, so sweet, innocent and well-behaved considering what he’s been up to lately.’_

I hum my agreement, but I don’t really wish to get into sordid gossip. Harry had brushed it off as a midlife crisis. Apparently, abandoning your wife and children for a woman half your age is acceptable once given that particular appellation.

_‘Did you ever think we’d end up here?’_

“I’m not precisely sure what you are referring to, or what you want me to say.”

_‘I mean, together nearly forty years. Married for twenty-six. No arguments for the last eighteen. Four grandchildren, eight great-grandchildren.’_

“No arguments? We’ve had at least six in the past week alone.”

_‘I mean the great big, Earth-shattering arguments where you storm out for a few days or weeks and refuse to make my potion.’_

Ah. _Those_ arguments. We’ve had our fair share of those. I feel that many of the arguments throughout Sirius’s deterioration of the last three months were indeed of that scale; I just didn’t let myself see them through. He needed me too much.

Or rather, I needed him.

I can see now that, despite suffering the harsh realities of his illness, I am still here for a reason. I have needed to make the most of every moment left with him. As if forty years hasn’t been enough. In my heart, I know that one hundred years would not be enough.

I will never be ready to lose him.

“I want to show you something. A memory.”

_‘I can’t do that. Not without my wand.’_

I summon his wand and lay it in his outstretched hand, wrapping his fingers around it awkwardly.

“I want you to try. I will help you. Your mind is as strong as ever, Sirius.” I lay my palm softly against his cheek. I do not know if he will be able to cast the spell wordlessly, but I need him to try.

He looks into my eyes and a rush of memories start to flicker by. His emotions are making him easily distractible. I can feel him trying to pull me this way and that as significant moments whirl past. I must stay focussed. I find the memory, but it slips from my grasp as Sirius tries to pull me elsewhere. For the love of Merlin, I wish he would just _listen_.

The pull lessens. He must have heard me or sensed my irritation. I slip toward the memory again, but slightly earlier in the evening. After all, tonight is our last night together.

I fear that any attempt at intimacy would be a disaster. Surely he would sense my revulsion at his twisted and unresponsive body. I cannot taint our lovemaking in such a way.

But I can give him this much.

*~*

**  
**  
**Before.**  


Now, we are in my memory. No longer am I a casual observer. This time, I am completely immersed in the physical experience.

And _what_ an experience.

We’re naked on Sirius’s bed, in his family residence. He is on all fours, his abundantly silver-flecked hair cascading over his shoulders. The most delicious filth is falling from his mouth as I push my cock into him.

“Fuck… Don’t hang about, yes… Fuck me so I’ll feel it tomorrow. That’s it, you know how I want it—OH, yes! Fucking hell your cock is amazing. AH! I suppose the rest of you isn’t so bad either.”

Inwardly I smile, but externally my past self is too lost in sensation. Sirius’s wanton moans send pleasant shivers straight down my spine from the base of my skull. I can feel my fingertips pressing into the softness around his hips. I can feel his arse, tight and hot around my cock. I want to reach out, and feel how soft his hair is as I weave it between my fingers; but I cannot, as I didn’t at the time. I feel disappointed as I pull out of him, but I know it will not last long.

Sirius looks over his shoulder indignantly. “Alright?”

I nod. “Lie down.”

“Why? I was quite enjoying it like that, to be honest,” he blushes. How amusing. I had forgotten that this was before Sirius had admitted the inevitable. For so long he had rebelled against expectation and instinct, refusing to accept—when either giving or receiving—that he preferred ‘doggy style’.

“I would like to see you,” I state plainly, but he looks ready to argue, so I add: “I would like to kiss you.”

He rolls over, wincing briefly and rubbing at his knees before spreading his legs for me. I ignore the ache in my own knees. I line myself up, but his hand on my shoulder makes me pause.

“You’re not going all Hufflepuff on me, are you?” he smirks.

I quickly thrust inside once more, watching him closely. He has a few more wrinkles than the memories we shared earlier. I admire his chest, taut and peppered with greying hairs, the slight softness of his belly, his beautiful cock, laying half-hard against his stomach.

I lean over him, propping myself up on my forearms as I continue to thrust. The change of angle eases the pain in my knees and causes Sirius to buck up against me. We both groan.

We are panting into each other’s faces now. My lips find his, sloppy and needy between desperate breaths. I can feel the sweat dripping down my back, sliding between my cheeks. The air is hot and heavy with the sounds and smells of sex.

“Touch yourself,” I practically growl against his lips. Sirius moans as he complies.

“Fuck, Severus, so _fucking_ good… Ung—higher, NNGH! YES! Ohhhh fuck, harder, Sev, harder—I’m close…”

Sirius’s knuckles keep knocking uncomfortably into my ribs as he furiously strokes himself. His mouth is against my neck: kissing, licking, sucking. I feel myself nearing the edge and my eyes drift shut.

I try to will them open again. I want to see! I want to look down on Sirius as I make him fall apart. I know that no amount of wishing will cause it to happen. Instead, I concentrate on his free hand, clutching at my hip, rubbing across my back; gripping my shoulder, fingernails digging in as he shouts out my name. His body bucks beneath me, hot wetness splatters against my chest and I find myself overwhelmed. I lose all sense of my surroundings. All that is left is the wonderful patches of heat where our bodies touch. Then comes the breath-taking wave of pleasure, rolling over every nerve-ending, setting my body alight with fire while at the same time I feel lighter than air.

Bit by bit, awareness seeps in. First, in the rapid rise and fall of our chests, and the hot panting breaths against my cheek. I lazily turn my head to the side and kiss whatever stretch of skin may be there. The rough drag of stubble as he shifts slightly tells me it is probably a chin. Now it is warm, soft lips. Lips that, even in this blissful haze, know just how to drive me to the point of insanity.

I flop sideways onto the bed. Sirius rolls to face me, swinging his leg over mine as he wriggles closer. We exchange lazy kisses, eyes mostly closed, as our breathing returns to normal.

After a while, we smile at each other. I run my fingers through Sirius’s hair, half-heartedly fixing his parting. He brushes me off, sweeping his own hand through his hair once before pushing me onto my back and settling his head upon my chest.

His fingertips trace lazy patterns through my chest hair as I lace my fingers through the ends of his hair, letting it slowly fall free before repeating again.

Suddenly there is a strange noise, akin to flatulence, but accompanied by a strange, wet, vibrating sensation around my nipple. I jerk with alarm, looking accusingly down at Sirius, who is quite clearly trying to resist bursting into laughter.

“What,” I enunciate slowly, “was that?”

“A raspberry.”

There is quite a long pause, before I say: “A what?”

“You’ve never heard of a raspberry? Harry does it to the kids; well, just Lily now really, but they all used to love it.”

“What is its purpose?”

Sirius is finding it near impossible to contain himself by this point. “It doesn’t really have one. It’s affectionate. Just something silly.”

“Something silly?” A small chuckle does escape Sirius this time. My frown deepens. “If parents force it upon their children as a sign of affection, you shouldn’t be surprised I haven’t heard of it. And what on Earth would possess you to do it to me?”

He shrugs. “Dunno really, just wanted to see what would happen.” He leans up, trying to reach for a kiss. I oblige by dipping my head to meet him halfway.

When I pull away, his lips find my neck, blowing another raspberry there. A small shiver runs through me and I hear Sirius hum contentedly. “It feels kind of nice there, right?”

“I suppose so. Although the sound is rather off-putting.”

“Can I try it somewhere else?”

I nod. It feels quite unremarkable against my chest. My stomach is slightly more ticklish. My body is still rather desensitised from our previous activities, so the sensations aren’t as acute as they may have been beforehand. Not _there_ however.

I whimper and pull my leg away, pushing at his shoulder to prevent him placing another raspberry between my upper thigh and groin.

However, he just goes for the other thigh.

“Pack it in, you cretin.”

I sit up, shoving at his shoulder, his chest, but he just continues to attempt to get his mouth on me. He starts to laugh as we wrestle.

“Sirius, you’re such a bloody child sometime—Ah! No teeth…”

And then we are both laughing.

I manage to pin him down, blowing long raspberries against his lower stomach as he laughs, writhes and begs for mercy.

He seems to have conceded. I crash down next to him, both still laughing as we pull each other close. As the laughter ebbs, I look up into his eyes and that’s when it happens.

The reason I brought him to this memory.

I concentrate on it. I let it swell. Until it is tangible in the room. So that I know Sirius cannot mistake it. So that Sirius will know exactly what this moment is to me.

The moment I truly fell in love with him.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him at the time. I feared that everything would change somehow. Instead, these words leave my mouth: “I’d like us to have a place together.”

Oh yes, marvellous. Well done, Severus, that statement has absolutely _no_ likelihood of upsetting the cauldron.

I can’t berate myself for long. After all, everything did change.

And I am thankful that it did.

*~*

**  
**  
**Now.**  


He has dropped his wand onto the bed. His fingers are twitching, trying their best to unfurl, trying to reach out for me. I take his hand, bringing it to my lips to briefly kiss his knuckles before returning our joined hands to rest on the bed.

_‘Thank you.’_

I try to smile, but I know it does not reach my eyes. I look to him, trying my best to drop my defences; to let my emotions dance across my face for him. “I love you, Sirius.”

_‘I love you, Severus.’_

My thumb rubs gentle circles on the back of his hand. I want to ignore the dawn starting to peek around the curtains. I cannot think about what is to come.

I have failed him.

His fingers twitch against the back of my hand and I know that he has sensed my despondency. I don’t know what to say. I want reassurance, but I know that there is none to be had. Yes, it has been my potion skills which have given us so many years together. It is also my potion skills which have failed him in the end, and that I cannot ignore. Would his life be any worse had we never become involved?

Perhaps it would have been improved.

“Sirius,” I pause mostly because I fear my voice will reveal my turbulent emotional state. I know I shouldn’t say it. I know that he will interpret my need to ask as some sort of failure on his part. Logic is outweighed by the need to soothe my irrationality.

“Have I made you happy?” I bow my head, allowing my hair to fall in front of my face. I can still see the Thoughtpad, but Sirius cannot see me. He cannot see the worried furrow across my brow. He cannot see the pulse in my cheek as I struggle to keep my emotions in check.

_‘If I could change any one thing that ever happened between us,’_

I wait with baited breath, but nothing else is forthcoming. “Yes?”

But the Thoughtpad stays clear and dull. I tilt my head enough to see him out the corner of my eye. Finally, it glows.

 _‘I wouldn’t. Not a single thing.’_ He waited, so that I would see the sincerity in his eyes. His words sting. We have had cause to forgive each other for many misdemeanours over the years, even since our marriage, never mind if you take our school days into consideration.

“I regret many actions that I would rectify if I could. I am disappointed that you would not do the same.”

_‘I never said I had no regrets, just that I wouldn’t change anything. After all, we wouldn’t be us without the sarcasm, stubbornness and explosive tempers. If we hadn’t been such little shits to each other in school, we might never have developed into the middle-age men who fell for each other.’_

“Perhaps.”

_‘That’s a yes, by the way, in short. You have made me happy. Happily ever after.’_

“This is no fairy tale. Fairy tales don’t end in death.”

 _‘You clearly never read the originals. Besides, we didn’t promise ‘’til death us do part’. ‘Happily ever after’ is timeless. Limitless._ ’

“Its limit is in our separation,” I bite out before I can stop myself, “You may have lived out your happy ending, but I must live on. In loneliness.” I know that, for his sake, I should be glad that he has accepted his fate.

I am not glad. I am bitter. A Nundu does not change its spots.

_‘And where will I be, if not in loneliness without you?’_

“Oblivion.” I should care that it may hurt him to hear it. I don’t. I want him to understand why this is so difficult. If I regret it at all, it is only because I expect him to attempt to prove me wrong. Here come the citations from Harry. _Priori Incantatem_. The Resurrection Stone. Part of me wants to believe it.

 _‘If that is what helps you, hold onto it. I choose to believe that we will see each other again. When the time is right.’_ It doesn’t help me. It suffocates me. It is too early a belief forced upon me. Too deeply ingrained.

“How can you be so optimistic, even now? In the face of—” I close my eyes, trying to de-clutter my mind. Attempting to ignore the panic threatening to overtake me. I need a distraction. To move. I need to do _something_.

“It is morning. We should get ready.” I do not want to, but they will be here on time regardless. I get up and pull Sirius’s dress robes from the cupboard.

Slytherin green, as we discussed.

I turn around and the Thoughtpad is flashing. I move to his side of the bed before peering down at it.

_‘I have a request.’_

“Go on.”

He does not respond immediately. Presumably he is weighing up how to word his request. I feel a knot forming in my chest as my brain chants, over and over: I can’t kill you, I _can’t_. Nor can I handle that conversation. Not again.

_‘Can you dress me by hand?’_

I catch his eyes for a moment. I feel the pull in my chest as the knot unwinds. The relief that I can do that for him. The knowledge that I can bring him some degree of comfort. 

“Of course. May I still levitate you? It would be easier on both our bodies.”

 _‘That’s fine. I just want to feel your hands on me.’_

I busy myself summoning and filling his basin to avoid looking at him again. I fear seeing my own feelings reflected in his eyes. More so, I fear that they will not be there. Perhaps the thought of leaving me isn’t tearing him apart inside. I don’t think I could bare it.

I strip him of his pyjamas, levitating only when necessary and casting _Impervius_ on the sheets. I take the sponge, lingering in my strokes as I wet his body. I trace the scar on his foot, from our first attempt to teach the children Quidditch, before soaping his feet. His calf muscles slowly ease their tension as I massage the soap to a lather. I work up to mid-thigh and rinse him off with my wand, vanishing the excess water which has pooled on the sheet, unable to seep in.

I summon a towel and dry his legs in long, sure strokes. His eyes are closed, breathing relaxed, concentrating on my touch.

“I’m going to do your back next,” I softly tell him, so he is prepared to be levitated. I easily roll him face down before lowering him, one hand on his chin to gently guide his face to the side as his head reaches the pillow. My eyes linger over the curse marks crisscrossing his back, but I do not let my touch draw attention to them. That was the agreement for our final days together: reminisce, but don’t mention the war.

When I have finished with his back and turn him over again, I do caress the hex mark upon his hip, caused by my own wand. I have left many more marks upon his body over the years but just the one which time and potions could not fade. I still think it serves the damn fool right. He should have known how I would react to a surprise party, or any sort of party—we were married by then, after all.

There is only one location left to wash. I hesitate, remembering his earlier request for a ‘massage’, worrying that he will expect it of me. As I repeatedly wring out the sponge, I know I am stalling. A grunt from the bed breaks my concentration and my hand immediately flies to the Thoughtpad, placing his hand upon it.

_‘Don’t tease, use the spell.’_

With a few flicks of my wand, his groin is clean and the basin filled with hot, fresh water. I gently bathe his face with a flannel, then shave him as he looks up at me. My eyes concentrate on the blade.

We washed his hair yesterday, so a freshening charm will do. I lean over the end of the bed, hooking his feet into the leg holes of his underpants. His knees have bent inwards again so I spend another moment massaging his muscles until they can part. I slide up his pants, promptly dressing him to the left, as he would himself.

His robes, fitted for his able body, slide easily over his now too-lean frame. I inflate his pillow, easing him into a sitting position before brushing his hair.

Truly, I will miss these moments.

The realisation surprises me. As usual, Sirius gives me cause to question everything.

I levitate him downstairs, into his armchair in the study. The rushing sound of the Floo from the kitchen seems to suck the oxygen from the room. I fuss with Sirius’s robes a moment longer, making sure his Thoughtpad is comfortably placed, before sweeping from the room.

Kingsley greets me with a handshake, introducing the Healer beside him. I do not hear his name, as I do not care. I shake his hand curtly. The Floo flares to life beside them, interrupting Kingsley’s tedious observations about the weather.

Harry steps out, jaw set, eyes boring into me. His dark grey hair looks just as ridiculously unkempt as it ever did. He is shortly followed by Teddy, sporting his father’s shade of sandy brown hair. He edges his way awkwardly between Harry and the wall to embrace me. It is brief, unreturned, but I acknowledge it with a small smile as he steps back. They are staring at me, waiting. It is a struggle to find my voice.

“Sirius wishes to speak alone with Teddy and the Minister.”

“I am not here as Minister,” Harry snaps, “I am here for Sirius. Because you refused his dying wish.”

“Harry…” Teddy places his hand on Harry’s shoulder. They exchange a look which tells me they have already had this conversation. Teddy turns his attention to me, his hand still on Harry. “Is he in the study?”

I nod and they make their way through the hall and into the other room, closing the door behind them. Harry’s words bother me. I know first hand that a terminal diagnosis does not make killing any easier. I know how many years he will be haunted by it. And counting.

I excuse myself for a moment, heading downstairs to my lab. I do not know why I am opening the cupboard and removing the potion. I don’t really know why I made it, as I have had no inclination to use it until now. Even this moment, I am unsure. I slip it inside my robe pocket and return to the kitchen.

Teddy’s tear-stained face appears in the doorway from the hall as I reach the top of the stairs. The flecks of grey now show around his temples. He simply nods and returns to the study. I tilt my own head in agreement and Kingsley and the Healer follow.

Kingsley begins to read out the official decree from the Wizengamot. I have already signed it, so I am not listening. I am looking at Sirius, but he is not looking at me. His eyes are on Harry; pained and concerned.

I know what I must do.

When Kingsley rolls up the parchment, I pull the vial from my robes. The Thoughtpad flashes.

“What’s that?” Harry reads off, before looking up at me.

“Something to stop the pain.” I kneel beside his chair, addressing only Sirius.

_‘Seems like a waste of a potion.’_

I still don’t know if I can do this. I can feel my voice threatening to crack.

“Sirius. Let me do this one last thing for you. If you are ready.”

I hold his gaze as I see the recognition of his own words in his eyes. He opens his mouth.

“The effect is not immediate,” I say softly, as I bring the vial to his lips.

He drinks the potion, sealing his fate.

And mine.

I get to my feet, laying the empty bottle upon the table before leaning over him. Taking his face in my hands, I lay a lingering kiss upon his forehead. Every ounce of emotion I have ever felt for this man, pouring into him through that one last kiss.

The Thoughtpad glows, but I do not read it. I leave.

Harry is calling after me. Voices are being raised. I try to close the study door but it is wrenched from my grip. I reach for the front door but my arm is seized. I try to yank it free.

“Severus, where do you think you’re going?” Harry shouts at me in disbelief.

“Elsewhere,” I tightly respond, still trying to extricate myself from his grasp.

“But, you can’t! He needs you!”

“Needs me?” I bite out, venom seeping unbidden into my words, “In a few moments he will have peaceful oblivion. I must stay. I must suffer!”

Harry’s fist connects with my nose, accompanied by a most nauseating crunch.

“ _You selfish bastard, that’s your husband in there!_ ”

“EXACTLY! He is _my_ husband. I have done all I can for him. Now I must look after myself.”

“Harry!” Teddy calls as he steps out of the study, a shocked look crossing his features as he sees my face. I can feel the blood drying across my cheek where I swiped at it with my sleeve. The acute pain is a welcome distraction from emotional turmoil.

“You can’t just walk out of here, Severus! That pad thing, he was trying to talk to you—”

“We have both said all that is necessary.”

“Harry, leave him, Sirius said to let him go.”

“Teddy,” Harry sighs in frustration, “We can’t let him leave!”

“Yes, we can. Sirius wants us to. Now come on, right now.”

I tense at the urgency in Teddy’s voice. Harry has detected it too.

“What’s wrong?”

“The potion...” His eyes flicker to mine. Harry turns back to face me, eyes wide. With a choked gasp, he throws himself back through the door to the study, Teddy at his heels.

I am out on the street but now my feet do not know where to go. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me. I can feel pressure building up inside my skull as guilt, anger, resentment, regret and desperate denial fight for supremacy.

I take flight.

I soar rapidly, up, up and up. The wind whips harshly across my face, pummelling against my sore and bloodied nose, drawing drops of moisture from my eyes until I can hardly see. Still I continue up, panting in harsh breaths at the exertion of such speed.

The air is thinning.

I level off, welcoming the burning in my lungs as I draw inadequate breaths. The light-headedness is divine.

I drop to a more comfortable altitude, reducing my speed. I had quite forgotten how wonderful unsupported flight is.

Given that it was Riddle whom perfected and taught the spell, it is a pleasure I felt was best left in the past. I did allow myself to indulge on one occasion. A teenage Teddy morphed a pair of wings for himself and challenged me to prove the stories were true. It had only been the two of us and, as graceful as he was, he was unable to match my freedom of movement.

I am grateful that I have been a part of Teddy’s life. He is a very caring man. One of the few people who continue to thrust physical signs of affection upon me. True, it often irritates me, but there is something reassuring in his persistence.

Much to Sirius’s disgruntlement over the years, I have not understood physical intimacy. Outside of sexual congress, I feel no desire for the touch of another. For the most part, it vexes me, to be touched without due cause. Our family cannot understand it. The crux of the matter is their refusal to accept that I have not experienced sadness. Not since the age of approximately six, at least. It is not a moment I tend to share. Suffice to say, it began with that ghastly phrase from the Muggle book of parenting, ‘I’ll give you something to cry about’.

After that, I realised that sadness only feeds weakness and fear. It is anger, resentment and blame which make you strong. Those are my foundations—what makes me, me, at my very core.

However, the foundations are not as strong as they once were. They have been built upon, time and time again—drilled into, in places and refilled with hopeful ideals. I am beginning to realise just how much of the person I have become is due to Sirius’s influence.

Every facet of my being is linked to Sirius. My patience and impatience. My social skills and lack of. Right down to ridiculous details such as my penchant for blue cheese. Every time I take a steadying breath, stop to think before I speak, reach for the St Agur—it is because of his influence. Memories will pull forth unbidden, of what we had and what I have lost.

Although, I did not lose him.

I shoved him out the door.

I am not even certain that he is dead yet, and already I feel surrounded, overwhelmed, _suffocated_ by mere memories. How can I face our family? How can I return to our home? _Damn Sirius_ for forcing this upon me, while he—

Of course. I am a fool not to have thought of it sooner.

I look around, but I don’t know where I am, so I cannot hope to know the way. Instead, I concentrate and turn, Disapparating mid-flight.

Seeking my own oblivion.

With a twist and a pop, I plough face-first into the gates of Malfoy Manor.

Not quite what I had in mind. Apparating while travelling at speed and parallel to the ground was probably not the best of ideas. The pain in my nose has doubled and I appear to be bleeding again. Before I can finish gathering myself, I feel a small hand around my wrist.

All of a sudden, I am in Draco’s study.

“Merlin’s pants, Severus!” Draco calls as he hurries over to me. “Sit down. I’ll call for refreshments and we’ll get you cleaned up. Bonbie!”

“Oh do stop mithering, Draco, I am perfectly fine!” I snap, aggressively brushing him off as the elf who likely brought me from the gate reappears.

Draco shoots me a withering look. “Even if I didn’t happen to know that you’re still in yesterday’s robes, you look like shit. Sit down, or I will make you.”

I roll my eyes at him, but I take a seat. Truthfully, I do feel rather weary all of a sudden. He gives the elf some instructions and sends it on its way.

“May I?” he asks, pointing his wand at my nose. I acquiesce with a wave of my hand. The first charm stings as it cleans the blood from me. “It is broken. Brace yourself.”

“Oh, do get on with it,” I snap. I cannot contain a pained grunt as my nose grinds back into place. “How do you know I’m in yesterday’s robes?” I ask as a distraction. Until Draco mentioned it, I hadn’t realised myself. Staying up all night, the thought hadn’t occurred to me. I had been too preoccupied…

Draco drops down into the chair beside me with a sigh. “Potter arrived about two hours ago. He said you’d stormed off…”

I hadn’t realised I had been flying for so long. No wonder I am tired.

“He was worried about you, Severus.” I laugh bitterly. “Truly. He wanted to wait here until you arrived.”

I stare at Draco, wide-eyed. Oh _please_ , no.

“No, I sent him away. I managed to convince him to leave you be for a while.”

I doubt that Harry’s and my own interpretations of ‘a while’ are even remotely similar.

“Harry was satisfied with Sirius’s explanation,” he almost mumbles, “About the Endless Sleep. He’ll smooth everything over so that there won’t be any repercussions, despite the changes of enabler and… method. Tea?”

I simply glare at him.

“Thought not.” He levitates two glasses of amber liquid over. I take mine with an appreciative nod. The glass is soon empty. “What can I do for you, Severus? You know you only need ask. Shower, bed, fresh robes, food?”

I stare at him levelly. “I want you to Obliviate me.”

He takes a deep breath. “Severus, I know that today has been difficult, but—”

“I am not asking you to remove just my memories of today.” For a moment, Draco looks taken aback, but he quickly composes himself.

“As a Healer, I cannot—”

“I am not asking you as a Healer, Draco. Please.”

He looks pained. “What exactly are you asking of me?”

“Take everything of him. Leave me only with Padfoot.” I will keep a portion of our love, my loss, in a more manageable dose. It is the perfect solution.

“Severus—That, how can you... You need to think this through.” Draco seems to be attempting to withhold his temper. I don’t really understand it.

“This is the right course of action.”

“ _Right_?! For fuck’s sake, Severus! What about James, Al and Lily? Is it _right_ for them to lose two grandfathers in one day? For Teddy and Harry to lose yet another link to their own parents?”

“At least I did not simply top myself. You know I have the means.” Draco seems hell-bent on missing the point entirely. It is rather vexing.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he smirks cruelly. “I know you, Severus.”

I had hoped to offer some perspective, but I was not prepared for his insight. He is right, of course. Those who fear death will not truly pass from the world, their disembodied spirit trapped in a meaningless existence for eternity. I drag on my anger, determined to get back to the point.

“I’ve played the doting husband, both the loved and the despised step-father and grandfather. It is time to do what is right for _me_!”

“This is not right, this is easy!” Draco’s cheeks are flushed red. He looks furious. “You are looking for the easy way out of this but it _isn’t easy_ , Severus. Like it or not, you are an important part of many people’s lives. Even if you don’t think they are important to yours.”

His words cut me to the bone. I feel myself bleed. I want to speak. I want to take back the inferences I now realise I made. Nothing comes out.

I look up as his hand touches my knee. “Sleep. Bonbie has made you up a room if you do not feel ready to go home just yet.”

I find I really don’t know. I don’t know anything. What I want, how I feel, what to do, it’s all conflicting and overwhelming. I want to be back home, cocooned in familiarity, but I know I will only be bombarded by his absence. I wonder what has happened to the Thoughtpad; Sirius’s voice. Perhaps it sits upon his chair, or on the table beside it. Perhaps it lies on the floor, forgotten in its irrelevance now that its purpose is served. 

Or perhaps that is myself.

“It won’t always feel like this. I promise you. I _know_. If you still want to discuss memory modification after the funeral, then I will listen.” The hand on my knee tightens.

I cannot help but glance up at Astoria’s portrait above the mantel. A single rose protrudes from an elegant, slender vase beneath it.

Yes, Draco knows.

*~*

**  
**  
_One week later._  


I exit the chapel, Amberley’s hand still firmly gripping my own as she walks beside me. Harry had broken down mid-eulogy, unable to continue but stubbornly refusing to sit down. When Teddy went to his aid, leaving myself solitary on the pew, Amberley did not hesitate. She stepped past her parents, ignoring the hushed protests and tugs at her dainty black dress. She boldly stepped to my side, pushing at me until I moved over for her. Sitting beside me, she silently took my hand into her lap. She hasn’t let it go since.

I stop at the floral tributes, gazing down at them unseeingly. Amberley lets some of her weight lean against my side, resting her cheek against ribs. I let my arm drape around her. 

I want to go home. To be where my lack of social graces is irrelevant. I could immerse myself in the familiar and comfortable; potion making in my lab or reading before the fire. I could go to bed, close my eyes with my nose buried in his pillow and pretend for a while that nothing has changed.

Instead I must stand here as streams of teary-eyed people approach me. I have difficulty dealing with people at the best of times. There are many handshakes, forced smiles, ‘thank you’s and uncomfortable hesitations. Of course, there are curious observations about my choice of robes. I am fully aware that Gryffindor red is not suited to one of my pallor. Sirius and I agreed upon our robes for the symbolism, not due to vanity. The unfaltering pressure at my side keeps me grounded.

Lily approaches. After her words attempting comfort, she reaches out for Amberley. My girl resolutely and silently shakes her head.

“It’s quite alright, Lily,” I assure her, and she moves on. Draco, Scorpius and James keep it brief.

As Albus approaches with his daughters, I inwardly thank his tact for bringing them in favour of his paramour. I do not see the girls as much as I used to now that they are well into their teens. They are growing up so beautifully.

Teddy steps up and I prepare for an embrace. He looks awful. His hair is flecked with more grey than I have ever seen on him, his face is flushed and his eyes red. He doesn’t say anything. He simply takes my hand in both of his, holds my gaze for a moment, and moves away. I assume he is trying to avoid yet more tears.

“Severus.” Harry’s voice is thick from crying.

I take a deep breath and try to usher Amberley in the direction of her mother. She only holds tighter.

He is in front of me now. Eyes also red, currently downturned. Chest heaving. I have avoided him for the whole week, dreading this moment.

“It was supposed to be me. I really thought I could do it.” There is a slight quiver in his jaw. He seems to crumple. “Thank you…” he whispers almost desperately as he throws himself against me, hands clutching at my back.

In my shock, I do not immediately notice a small hand letting go. I do notice the same hands wrapping my arms around Harry as he sobs into my shoulder.

“That’s what he said,” Harry whispers through his tears, his body shaking in my arms, “His last words were for you. ‘Thank you, love, for every single moment. Even the shit ones’!” A broken laugh escapes him.

And I hold him. I hold Harry Potter to my chest as he cries.

And I cry. 

Great sobs wrack my body. My grief flows freely, sucking in desperate breaths. My arms around Harry are necessary, clinging back at me just as needily. I feel like I may never want to let go.

With this, the last of the foundations which made up Severus Snape crumble into dust. All that is left, is all that Sirius gave me.

I am Severus Black.

And I will not surrender.

_Fin_

*~*


End file.
